Steroid scandal nearly trips up an icon

I'm surfing the Internet when I see the headline. It stuns me like a slap across the face.
Mariners' Moose Suspended For Steroids.
This is it. This is the breaking point, the indelible remember-where-you-were-and-what-you-were-doing moment when almost two years of long-simmering fears and frustrations finally boil into outrage over baseball's worst scandal since the aftermath of World War I.
First, such sluggers as Barry Bonds, Gary Sheffield and Jason Giambi testify they'd used steroids (Bonds and Sheffield pleaded ignorance) in the BALCO investigation. Then several minor leaguers, most of whom are from third-world countries where body-building drugs aren't regulated as fastidiously they are in the United States - in America, some over-the-counter supplements known to produce long-term ailments have been illegal for, geez, several months now - are found to test positive.
Then comes the Rafael Palmeiro fiasco, when Palmeiro's 3,000-hit career is revealed to be tainted days after he records his 3,000th hit at Safeco Field.
Now this. The scandal that continues to permeate every baseball conversation - from Bonds' viability as a Hall-of-Fame candidate to Giambi's "Comeback Player of the Year" status - is claiming the only symbol of innocence and frivolity remaining at the ballpark.
The mascot.
As my fists clench and my eyes well with tears, I find myself asking questions without easy answers.
What circumstances could justify the Moose betraying the fans?
Was he attempting to rebound as fast as inhumanly possible from an injury? Or was he merely trying to gain an edge that'd give him that extra boost of strength to wiggle faster and flop harder?
Did anybody in the Mariners organization have so much as a clue? And if not, why not?
Has the Moose endangered his chances of someday joining the San Diego Chicken in the new Mascot Hall of Fame?
And, finally, what do I tell my children about the Moose's signature scribble in their autograph books?
"There's Willie Bloomquist," I'd say as we settled in our seats before a game. "He's signing stuff."
The kids would glance at the cluster of fellow autograph seekers behind the first-base dugout and shrug. They're disinclined to exercise patience in those long lines not snaking toward a vendor selling cotton candy or a Slurpee.
And besides, they only had eyes for the Mariner with the giant antlers, the only Mariner in 2005 who hasn't struck out, committed an error, or wound up and thrown the one ball all night he wished he could have back - the ball he knew spelled trouble the second it left his hand - because he'd briefly fell into the bad habit of delivering the pitch from an improper release point.
I'm not a psychologist, but I believe children intuitively gravitate toward those in a baseball uniform who don't bemoan the pitfalls of an ineffective release point.
And, of course, there are those antlers.
"Dad, I don't see the Moose," I can hear one of the kids say, "but I think I know where he is. Let's go to the gift shop!"
Through thick and thin this year - OK, through thin and thinner - the Moose always could be counted on to show up with a game face.
On those nights the action between innings was more suspenseful and provocative than anything quantifiable on a scorecard, the Moose provided enough of a distraction to delay a fourth or fifth visit to the gift shop.
Then I discover the act is, dammit, an act. In his blind ambition to entertain Seattle fans at any cost, the Moose has ruined the reputation of all the decent and hard-working mascots throughout baseball.
I probably won't stop watching the game once regarded to be "The National Pastime," but now that the sacred trust between fan and mascot has been violated, can I expect my ballpark experience to be the same?
Will the green grass still sparkle under the lights? Will the concourses still scintillate idle minds with the aroma of onions and garlic fries? Will the public-address announcer's recitation of the starting lineups - the most life-affirming sound in the world, aside from a grade-school choir singing "This Land Is My Land, This Land Is Your Land" - still give me goosebumps?
The Moose has been exposed as a fraud and a cheat. Say it ain't so, Mo.
Betrayed and dismayed, perturbed and disturbed, I muster the stomach to glance at the heartbreaking headline on my laptop screen for a second time.
Mariners Morse Suspended For Steroids.
Oh, well, never mind.

Source: http://www.shns.com/